


I'd Rock Your Jailhouse

by 60s_babe



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: Dry Humping, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:41:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29257629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/60s_babe/pseuds/60s_babe
Summary: John is having a dream about Elvis, but as the dream goes along he starts to wonder whether this is Elvis, or some other dark haired lad.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 1
Kudos: 29





	I'd Rock Your Jailhouse

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this idea for a while now but never got around to writing it until now. It was suppose to only be one chapter but I wrote way more then I anticipated and I feel like posting so now it will be two parts. 
> 
> I put more effort into this then I did my history project so please enjoy
> 
> Send prompts to my tumblr: dropbear-69

John sat impatiently at the edge of his bed. He'd never been one for sitting back and waiting for things to happen. John Lennon was always at the front lines, roaring to go and dragging those closest to him along.

In this current situation he was the puppet master, pulling the strings and manipulating his young boyfriend Paul McCartney. Of course Paul had needed quite a lot of persuading, but John knew his boyfriend well enough to know that Paul would eventually give in, especially when it was something sex related. The younger boy made nearly every decision with his cock. Which always worked in John's favor. 

The newest scheme that John had managed to drag Paul into all revolved around a dream John had had a few nights ago. 

When John had first been introduced to Paul back in '57 his first thought was, 'This shrimpy fucker looks like Elvis'. But when he started to get to know him he realized he was nothing like the cool, smooth, deep voiced Elvis that John had tugged himself off to during hot, sweaty, hormone filled nights in Mendips. But that didn't stop Paul from worming his way into John's heart. With his silly smiles, goofy sense of humor, and incredible guitar skills and songwriting talent. The cagey fucker. But John had never stopped thinking about the physical resemblances between the two. The pale skin, symmetrical face, dark hair, pink plump lips, and when John had managed to pull Paul into a pair of drainies, throw a leather jacket on him, and grease his hair back into Elvis's signature do it had not only added more credit to John's theory, but it had also managed to get Paul to slowly start becoming a regular in John's late night fantasies. 

But John's newest late night fantasy had occurred in a dream of his a few nights back. 

John had been standing behind Elvis, nothing unusual, this was how most of these dreams started. Elvis was wearing his iconic gold suit, his broad shoulders were hunched over, and his mile long legs were quivering. His plump arse was straining against the gold seams, he was serving it up on a silver platter, well gold. And who was John to deny Elvis fucking Presley. John lifted his hands and started to knead his arse. The gold sequins were digging into his palms in the most pleasing masochistic way, and Elvis's firm doughy flesh made John's head go spinning into the hazy paradise of pleasure. But instead of the deep smooth growls that Elvis would usually let out, this was a moan, and not the moan you would expect from Elvis. It was higher in pitch, and more melodic. But in John's aroused mind he couldn't care less. 

John leaned forward into Elvis. Until his hard cock was nestled between his arse cheeks, and his chest was pressed into his firm shoulder blades. John then plunged his nose into the slicked back, mass of black locks. He smelt different then usual, the smell of grease was still there but it was cheaper stuff, it smelt like the stuff John used in his hair, and not the expensive shit Elvis always used. He also smelt of sweat with traces of vanilla through it, it smelt so familiar yet John couldn't place. He also smelt like something warm, something that smelt like home, something you'd never expect to smell on someone that you'd only ever seen on glossy magazine and record covers. It threw John off slightly, and he kept smelling the hair obsessively, trying to place where he'd smelt it before. It was so darn familiar. 

Suddenly Elvis thrusted his arse back against John's cock, and moaned in that strange melodic way. And John remembered that this was suppose to be a wet dream, and not some fucking Sherlock mystery. So he grabbed Elvis by his hips, (that felt smaller and more delicate than usual), and pushed him over towards his bed. Even in his dreams he couldn't imagine bedding Elvis anywhere other then his small single bed, with the squeaky mattress that's God knows how many years old, with God knows how many stains on it. He pushed Elvis down until he was lying flat on his bed, and then mounted him from behind. John glanced down until he was staring at Elvis's arse again. Now that he thought about it his arse was different too. It was perkier, rounder, meatier. John's mind was still trying to figure out what was going on, but John's cock was weeping to just be let out and stuck inside something. Hell at this point it didn't even have to be inside anything. Just any type of stimulation would do. And when John finally took notice of his leaking prick the sexual frustration hit him like a tidal wave, and taking off clothes was something that could be dealt with later.

He grabbed the wrong, but familiar hips lifted them up and started humping against the also wrong, but familiar arse. And as soon as he started all he could think was fuck it. Who cares whose arse this is Elvis, James Dean, fucking George. He had a warm, compliant body in his hands and that's all his hormone driven mind could give a fuck about right now, as he fucked his clothed cock into the sequin covered arse. 

John then felt the urge to shove his tongue down the mystery persons throat. He didn't care who's face he saw, as long as they had a pair of plump lips, and a throat ready to be tongue fucked. So he lifted a hand and grabbed a fistful of greasy, ink coloured hair, and tugged it back. The first thing John saw was the pale expanse of a neck, it was long and the Adams apple bobbed in the center. It was basically begging to be bitten, to be painted with the deep marks of hickeys and John was more then happy to take up the challenge. He licked, and bit, slobbered, and basically gorged on the pale canvas that he was offered. The man's taste was addicting, sweaty yet sweet, and familiar. John dug his tongue into the hollowed out base of his throat, and slowly started to lick upwards. Up the smooth skin that was now coated in a thin veil of his saliva, over the bump of his Adams apple, to the sharp edge of his jaw line, that he then started to lick across until he got to the sharp point of his chin.

John then started to trail his eyes up the mystery man's face. His plump, pink, rose petal lips, that John could swear he'd kissed before. The chubby, chipmunk cheeks that were dusted in a dark shade of pink, that while looking at them John could feel a tingle in the tips of his fingers, that was telling him he already knew the curve of them. Then the small button nose, that John knew he'd flicked teasingly with his fingers before. His eyes then landed on the oh so familiar 'strangers'. They were a mix of a deep chocolate brown, with a deep, mossy green. The eyes that John would always recognize even when old age chipped away at his memory, these eyes would always be there, permanently engraved.

Paul. It was Paul. His Paul. Paul McCartney. And John felt daft for not having realized it sooner.

But then John remembered the situation he was currently in. He was thrusting his throbbing, clothed cock, against Paul's arse while he was dressed up like Elvis.

And John would have cum then and there if he hadn't woken up.

So now here he was, impatiently sitting on the edge of his bed while Mimi was out, waiting for his boyfriend. He then heard the bathroom door open and Paul's voice floating through the air saying, "Don't be a cunt and laugh at me, this was 'yer daft idea anyway".

Paul then stepped out of the bathroom and the light reflected off him, making Paul glow, and John's jaw drop.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second work and I enjoyed writing it and the overall result way more than my first. I will be writing a second chapter to my first fic and it will be coming out before the second chapter of this so you should go check that out if you want I'm hoping to get the second chapter of my first fic done by tomorrow and the second chapter of this after Valentine's, who knows it could even be before then.
> 
> Please comment, suggestions and feedback are always appreciated 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed😘


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